


Nightscapes

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1x01 "Pilot", Angst, Bottom Dean, Canonical Character Death, Episode Related, M/M, Rough Sex, Top Sam, kind of a shmoopy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: I’m not unfaithful. I've never been. — You will be.The hoarse, whispery voice of the ghost still rings in Sam’s ears. He was so sure in that moment that he was telling the truth, so sure that she made a mistake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write something for the "You will be" line in the pilot for the longest time. I'm not sure I like how it turned out but I'm posting it anyway.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Unbeta'd.

Sam thinks he can still feel the heat of the fire, the desperation, the devastation, and he is vibrating with unshed energy. He is helpless and furious, fingers curled into fists so tight he is digging nails into his own palm and that little sting of physical pain barely managed to penetrate the emotional one, the one in his soul, the one that is digging so deep, he doesn’t think he will ever be able to feel anything else again.

_You will be._

_I’m not unfaithful. I've never been. — You will be._

The hoarse, whispery voice of the ghost still rings in Sam’s ears. He was so sure in that moment that he was telling the truth, so sure that she made a mistake.

Then he ran the Impala through the front of the house and they got rid of her. Dean stood there in the headlights, limping from where the ghost hurled that chest of drawers at them and it hit his bad knee — the one he injured on a Wendigo hunt over half a decade ago —, inspecting the headlights of his car and threatening Sam with bodily harm if anything’s broken. 

Sam doesn’t remember why now but that was the moment he stopped and thought about the woman’s words. If maybe there could be some truth to them. He didn’t like to think of himself that way, didn’t want to think he was that kind of man — the one that makes excuses. _She’s not here. It’s been so long. It doesn’t count when it’s Dean because Dean’s always been different from everyone else_ _and the normal rules don’t apply._

Deep down in the most self-destructive corner of his brain, Sam is convinced that this is his fault. That somehow he made it happen, called upon this tragedy with his impure thoughts. He knows it doesn’t work like that but he can’t help thinking it.

It’s the middle of the night and it’s eerily quiet now in the motel room. Dean insisted on renting one for the night but Sam knows he won’t be able to sleep. He is too restless, yelling at Dean that they have to go, have to find out what happened, find out who or what they need to kill. And Sam is ready to kill something. Anything. 

He falls silent when Dean starts undressing in front of him and maybe it’s a plot, maybe it’s all intention, or maybe he is just getting ready for bed, but either way, Sam’s got him crowded against the motel room wall before either of them have a chance to blink.

Dean is staring up at Sam with his jaw set in a hard line. His face is too open, making Sam feel too vulnerable and he presses the back of Dean’s head into the drywall when he slams his mouth down onto his brother’s. It’s almost vicious, trying to inflict pain in order to feel less of it and it’s working to an extent.

He hefts Dean up against the rough surface of the wall, and he doesn’t exactly go in dry, but it’s a near thing. Dean makes a small hurt sound but he doesn’t protest otherwise, digging his fingernails into Sam’s shoulder blades, his head dropping back against the wall with his mouth open. Sam generally prides himself on being an attentive lover but he’s too upset, hurting too much to take his time and be gentle.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just digs his heels into the small of Sam’s back and moans into his brother’s mouth on every thrust that teases his sweet spot.

It takes Sam forever to fall asleep after despite Dean’s even, warm puffs of breath against his shoulder, and when he finally does, he dreams of fire. Burning, he’s burning, and he wakes up screaming for Jessica. Dean is there, sitting up in bed next to him.

Dean’s palm on his shoulder is warm, gentle reassurance, and he’s murmuring things under his breath, mostly nonsense, to calm Sam down. He’s sleep-slow and too soft and Sam can’t do soft right now so he grabs Dean by his arms and throws him onto his back on the mattress. He bites Dean’s lip and kisses him hard before either of them can catch their breath.

This time when Sam sinks into him there’s more lube but not more patience, welcoming heat clenched around him, and Dean keeps making these breathy little _ah ah ah_ sounds as Sam fucks into him, just like Sam remembers from four years ago. Dean holds him tight, legs and arms wrapped around Sam, and doesn’t let go until they’re both spent once more, Dean spilling white between them and Sam deep inside of him. 

Sam doesn’t really ever go back to sleep, slipping in and out of consciousness against Dean’s side with one hand splayed over Dean’s belly, feeling the rise-and-fall of his breathing.

His resting palm turns into a caress along Dean’s side when the sun comes up. They still haven’t said anything to each other since the night before and it’s just as well because Sam doesn’t want to talk.

Dean turns onto his stomach for Sam without having to be prompted and Sam bites along his shoulders. Not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to leave marks. He likes seeing them there, likes the way Dean’s breathing picks up with every new bruise. Sam keeps his fingers pressed against the inside of Dean’s wrist, feeling his pulse jump and stutter.

It’s got to hurt, being taken none-too-gently for the third time in fairly quick succession, but all Dean does is turn his mouth into the pillow to muffle his shout when he comes. His body is shaking underneath Sam and Sam’s fingers press purple marks into his brother’s hips, chasing his third orgasm.

He makes Dean come for a fourth time after that while lying next to him, three fingers rubbing the insides of Dean’s ass, milking his prostate until there’s nothing more to give and Dean’s writhing, making a mess of the sheets. His nails print crescent shapes onto Sam’s forearm where he’s got it in a death grip but Sam doesn’t stop until Dean is actively begging him to.

Too sore to move, Dean slumps back against the pillows, eyes closed and visibly relieved. His hand clamped around Sam’s arm goes slack and he loosely intertwines their fingers.

Sam’s gaze is drawn down, his own broader hand against Dean’s slightly smaller one, long fingers against Dean’s that are shorter and slightly crooked from being fractured one too many times on a job.

Sam lifts their hands and presses his mouth against the back of Dean’s, kissing his knuckles, brushing his lips drily along the length of his index finger. Dean shivers and stays quiet.

When the numbness slowly ebbs away and the pain comes back, Sam drags his brother’s naked body against his own, Dean’s back to Sam’s chest, and holds him in a grip that’s perhaps a little too tight but Dean never complains.

Sam’s eyes are burning too-hot behind closed lids and he squeezes them, pressing his forehead against the back of Dean’s head. He exhales shakily and smoothes a hand over Dean’s hip, fingers ghosting over the new bruises in an apology.

That’s when Dean pushes against Sam’s arm, trying to turn around, and Sam reluctantly loosens his hold. Dean angles himself into Sam’s body, casually throws his leg over Sam’s thighs. It’s the one he hurt earlier and it’s got to be aching. Sam reaches down to cover Dean’s kneecap with his palm, giving it a gentle massage.

Dean gasps quietly before his eyes flutter shut on a contented sigh. All of a sudden, Sam feels even worse about the rough treatment he’s been dishing out since the previous evening.

“Sammy,” Dean says, voice rough and used-sounding, and it’s the first thing he’s said in a while, “I know you’re in pain, and I know you’re angry. And I wish I could do something about that. But all I can do is try and make sure you don’t lose yourself in it.”

Sam’s throat is too clogged to speak, so he waits.

Dean swallows, turns his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be … and I just want you to know that I want this. I want whatever you’re ready to give and I don’t want you to think you’re taking advantage or you’re using me or whatever it is that’s going on in your head right now.”

In different circumstances, Sam would laugh at how spot-on his brother always manages to be, even after four years of separation. He still can’t make himself speak, just lightly strokes his fingers up and down Dean’s spine.

“I know you need me,” Dean says, “And you know it, too. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

Sam can feel him smile against his collar bone but it’s a weak, brief thing. “I’m sure Jessica would want you to have what you need, whatever it is.”

Sam isn’t crying yet but he’s merely hanging on by a thread. The pain is crashing against him in waves, pulsing and throbbing, and he is trembling with it. Dean makes a tiny, surprised noise when Sam squeezes him harder but he relaxes quickly, hiking his leg higher up on Sam’s hip, and lets Sam bury his face in his hair.

It’s too much, hurts too bad to think about it, and Sam wants, _needs_ to stop thinking. He pulls back with a gasp and Dean’s staring up at him, green eyes wide and full of sorrow, pain by extension, and he’s so beautiful. He’s Sam’s beautiful big brother and Sam doesn’t understand how he ever could have let him go.

He presses his mouth against Dean’s with vigor, more desperation than passion but they make it work anyway. Dean’s tongue is against his and Dean wiggles his hand out of the cocoon Sam’s got him in and puts it on Sam’s jaw, fingertips resting on Sam’s cheekbone. Dean manages to gentle the kiss a little, keeping his lips soft and pliant until Sam is forced to respond in kind, nipping and licking experimentally, almost as if they’ve never done this.

And they haven’t, not like this. Not without any secrets between them, without hiding, without being afraid of getting caught, of being rejected, of being left behind. Sam can’t say it but he makes his brother a promise with his mouth that speaks ‘Never again — it’s gonna be you and me from now on.’

Dean smiles, the line of his mouth writing, ‘We’re gonna get through this — together’ and for the first time since the fire, Sam might actually be ready to believe it.


End file.
